


closest thing to home

by freezerjerky



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woods are deep, but not as deep as they once were. Merlin supposes there are worse things to come, he supposes that it's only been two hundred years and many of the same trees still stand.</p>
<p>(Written for The Merlin Arts Fest on Tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	closest thing to home

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is probably the most atmospheric thing I've written in my life, which says a lot because I'm a dialogue person. Because this is my first Merlin fic and my first fic at all in a long while I just wanted something simple and not as plot heavy, but for the remaining weeks, I hope to have more of a plot to fic.

The woods are deep, but not as deep as they once were. Merlin supposes there are worse things to come, he supposes that it's only been two hundred years and many of the same trees still stand. He suspects that he might just live to see them all die, have them all cut down or struck down or simply stop thriving. They're not so different from people, then. Perhaps living in the forest wasn't the best idea, perhaps there's no place immune to the changing state of the world.

Even he changes, just at a slower pace than most anything else. This lack wasn't apparent that decade in Camelot, when he'd been so worn down with stress and worry and hard work he seemed to age the same as everyone else. Now, he was left mostly alone to wander, or settle in one of his caves or cottages dotting along the forests and countryside. Nowhere was home, but everywhere was home. Everything was quiet, content on its surface but the current underneath was fierce, and desperately lonely. Or maybe he was projecting, he wasn't really certain anymore.

Friends, over the years, came and went to their graves or other lands, or he slipped out of their lives when he felt they were tiring of him, or trying to use him. It's a burden to fulfill your destiny at so young an age then be left to wait for God knows how long. Not that Merlin's been sitting idle, if anything he's becoming more skilled and more powerful by the year. There's just some gaping hole without Arthur to serve, without that constant desire and presence prodding him through life. After two centuries, Merlin doesn't know how to live for himself.

That doesn't mean he's made a complete martyr of himself, though. Life's taught him that sometimes one has to keep on living, and not be so sacrificial. The years have taken enough from him, his youth, every friend he's had. He will hold on to what he has, use magic to keep him looking fresh faced as he can manage, eat at feasts, see the world. Never in his life had he imagined crossing seas, but he has, so long as he's able to come to the closest thing to home he has once every year.

Camelot has changed. It's one of those 'goes without saying' concepts, but he still finds himself alarmed each time he discovers it. The citadel still stands, its beautiful stone exterior betrays the mind, betrays that maybe he can recreate the shining radiance of the past. Everything seems golden and bright in retrospect. He's enough of a romantic to believe it until he sets foot inside. Arthur's work has afforded a more luxurious lifestyle to the new kings and queens, not that Camelot had ever been a stark place. It simply wasn't opulent, it was a real elegance, not some overdone finery. The queen wore embroidered silks every day no matter the state of affairs, and the King didn't really understand the need to ever wear armour or leave the citadel for any act but hunting. Maybe the world he'd built wasn't worth it,he'd think, and then he'd see the crown prince, a small blond boy, and the way his eyes would flash gold and the governess would scold him for using magic to tease his sister. His work was good, he had meant something and would mean something again.

This year, when he visits, he's given presents that he doesn't accept, and offered a room to stay in. The royal family wants to parade him around like he's some great oddity from a far corner of the world. None of the faces connect to him, though and give him the desire to stay. There are descendants of those he cares about, but they're so far removed he's become a bragging right at best and an obligation at worst.

“I'll stay for a night,” he says, “and all I require is a bed and a glass of wine before I go to sleep. I'm but a humble servant. Well, maybe not humble, but a servant after all.” The cheeky grin goes over their heads, and he's still given a room that's too lavish for his liking. All the more reason to slip out of bed before anyone else woke up in the morning and find his way to the forest.

The woods may not have been as deep as they once were, but sometimes they seemed so unchanged that morning. The trees are still straight and tall, creating a canopy of cover, and the leaves that litter the ground are no different from those that he remembers. Merlin wanders the familiar ground, retracing memories of hunting and picnics and days out. He remembers Arthur and the way the rays of sun tumbled through the leaves, shining golden light through his hair. There has not been, though centuries have passed, anything as beautiful to him. When he settles down beside a tree, away from the light, he tries hard not to remember Arthur, because he's trying not to waste his tears. Who's to say how many more centuries will pass until he sees something as beautiful again?

He eats his breakfast in the silence he's gotten used to, watching the particles of noontime dust float through the light. As a child he always thought this was magic, and he'd watch it for hours so he didn't feel alone. Now he knows that while the earth itself is magic, it doesn't have time for such insignificant tricks. It's got kings to wait for, lovers to return to the arms of those who are waiting. Merlin spends his day in the woods, waiting for something he knows won't come, because the earth's not ready just yet to relinquish what he wants, it chooses to hold him ransom longer. When he leaves, he'll continue his trek, to Avalon than to elsewhere. These woods are the closest thing to home he's got in the ever expanding circle he wanders, because everything comes back in time.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the [Merlin Arts Fest](themerlinartsfest.tumblr.com) for some lovely works!
> 
> [This](http://miriadna.com/desctopwalls/images/max/Fairy-forest.jpg) was the prompt used!


End file.
